


In the Pain

by Riesx



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-15
Updated: 2012-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-14 06:29:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riesx/pseuds/Riesx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The cure for pain is in the pain." Five snippets about Dean's pain and one of Castiel's happiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The cure for pain is in the pain  
Good and bad are mixed  
If you don't have both,  
you don't belong with us.

-Rumi  
\-----------------------------------------------------------

 

Months have passed before he discovers its return.

Cas' trench has been neatly folded and tucked away in the Impala's trunk for just as long, but tonight Dean has a sudden urge to take it out and stuff it under the ragged motel pillow (musky…Is that the smell of every angel or just you?). There's a small knot that digs into the base of his neck, almost making sleep impossible and that just won't do. (Who's the princess who can't sleep…Was it a rock? No. A pea? Yes. Weird.) The freaky God-finding (goddamned good for nothing…) amulet falls out of the inside pocket and as Dean picks it up, he feels one side of it slightly worn and warm from someone's touch (not him, he's been running cold since…). A worry mark rubbed into the cheap metal made by someone very strong. Sam must have fished it out of the wastebasket or Cas…he could have regretted throwing it away and gone back (but the angel had been so angry, so frustrated).

Dean decides not to let it go, but he'll never wear it again.


	2. Chapter 2

This is a good one.

The room is packed and everyone's had a little too much to drink, even him. And Dean can pack away the liquor so well, you'd think he was born with a wooden leg or second liver. Surly men and rowdy women, loud music and lousy burgers that'll turn your stomach to rot. Yes, this is just the bar he needs and the perfect atmosphere to catch the night on fire. Each punch Dean throws erases a memory and every blow that a stranger lands eclipses the pain he can't escape. His face never catches a fist, though, almost as if it's learned it's too pretty for its own good and protects itself from harm. So Dean never loses a tooth, never scratches a cornea, never learns his lesson. The cure for pain is in the pain. Some nerd told him that once, but he doesn't want to remember the guy's name. It's a sorrow he never wants to sink into again.

Every night he seeks his cure, and turns his world to red.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean Winchester's never been one to hit women.

Well, except if they're possessed by demons or are evil Hell bitches, but even then he pulls his punches when he can get away with it. Sam's never had the same issue, but he doesn't remember their Mom and why Dean uses that for his excuse, they'll never get into. Dean is not one for psychology.

The morning he thinks about smacking Lisa is the second he starts to slowly back away from Normal and All That It Stands For. It wasn't her fault, but he should have seen it coming. Dean was never cut out for this life and that is something he definitely knows he can blame his dad for. The question is: would he have become a hunter if Mom hadn't died? If he couldn't remember her screams and the fire that took her life that will be forever seared on the backs of his eyelids? If those were the only reasons he had for not being able to sleep well at night? What do forty years of torture and torturing in Hell look like to the common man and how does he make them goaway?

Dean's body is full of scars, most of which have healed clean or clean enough, but Lisa has asked about them all. He recounts numerous knife-fights, werewolf scratches (no, not all carry the disease), rugaru wrestling matches that were almost too vicious (but viciousness runs in my veins, baby…) and so on until she runs out of questions and his skin feels clean again.

Today, she places her small hand (well, smaller than his) squarely on the one place on his chest he wishes she hadn't and asks about invisible pain. "Was there something right here? It always feels warm, Dean. Like your blood is running too hot."

He can't tell her and he simultaneously wants to hold her hard against him and push her away, maybe into the wall. Overreaction, thy name is Dean Winchester.

He feels the tears dammed up and more emotion than he would like to allow enters into his voice. "Nothing. Not a thing."

The look in her eyes tells Dean she doesn't believe him, but Lisa knows better than to prod any deeper. "Well, maybe you'll tell me one day."

She (Lisa, dear one, the epitome of allthatisgeniuneandboring, God help her-ifYouexist) slips out of the bed they've shared for over a year and leaves him alone with his waking thoughts. "Yeah, one day." No, not today and I'm pretty sure I never will.

Dean knows One Day does not exist.

But Today is when he begins to leave for good.


	4. Chapter 4

Free nights off are always the worst.

They're the most fun, Dean thinks, but definitely the worst. Despite all outward appearances, the erstwhile hunter sometimes thinks too much. When that happens, well, shit…he resolves to drink the thoughts away, hoping for some form of temporary amnesia. Sam is still getting the occasional hell burst from good ole' Lucifer and Dean can't help but hide away in his trashy motel room (when have they ever had the money for anything nice?) with a pint of rot-gut and his own sins. At least he knows what to expect in the morning and a face full of cold porcelain isn't so bad, because, fortunately, he made it to the bathroom this time.


	5. Chapter 5

He only calls her once.

The number has a Texas area code.

It's in his contact list under (?) because Bobby never told him who it belonged to and now he's dead and Dean remembers his promise to keep it, keep it and never call it unless you have to and you'llknowwhenthat'llbeyoucurioussonofabitch.

Bobby's only been dead for a few days now, but he doesn't know what else to do and Sam suggested calling his "people". Jodie was the only one he could think of off the top of his head, but she already knew and Dean could almost sense the blame in her tone. It could have just been the guilt he felt overlapping her words and the fact that they (the town? Other hunters? Who?) had already scheduled a funeral and you both are invited-but Dean will never go (where else can you go?), his hunter's pyre will have to wait. I want a revenge that willneverend. So he calls. (?)'s voice is higher pitched than he imagined and she sounds just about as old as Dean feels, which must make her around 103.

"Who is this? Hello?"

He can't speak for the first few seconds and wonders why he ever thought to do this. "My name is Dean. I'm-" (lost? helpless? falling?)

"This is a private number. You shouldn't have this number." (?) cuts him off, but she's not unkind. More like an aggravated Mother doling out a gentle warning.

"I'm a friend of Bobby Singer, and.." He can't say the words. He doesn't even know if this strange lady wants to hear them. Maybe she'll cry, maybe not. Maybe she'll throw a goddamn party.

The other line stays open and Dean counts the breaths he needs to calm himself. It's something of a meditation exercise that Cas taught him once and fuck, he can't go down that road again-counting up all the ones that are gone and where do angels go when they die or do they even dieatall? Seconds turn into minutes and the inside of the Impala seems closer than ever, the wet highway stretches out beyond where he can see. Maybe he's back on the axis mundi and this is all just some crazy fever dream he scratched up from the bottom barrel of his brain.

Maybe in some weird way, this chick gets it-gets what his hesitation is about, because she's letting the quiet pull out between them more than any patient person should. There is silence, and then there's Silence. What he wants to tell her is that he thinks this is the end of him and that it's scary, like A LOT scary (frightening. down. to. his. bones), but that gets choked back along with a river of tears and maybe it wouldn't be so bad to drown right now.

"Dean? Are you okay?" She actually sounds worried. "I mean, I did warn Singer this number is only for emergencies."

"Yup." Don't say my name. You don't know me. Please don't hate me. I think maybe I love you a little bit, but that can't be because everything I love falls apart or goes away or dies and what'sthedifferenceanyway.

(?)'s question is unexpected, he actually is surprised she's talked to him this long. "Do you keep your promises, Dean?"

"Yes." The truth is all that's left to him. "Yes, I do."

"Then promise me you'll delete this number." Well, you can't charm every girl on Earth, Dean. (Do angels count?)

"Okay." His throat is sore from holding back, but if he were to speak in more than one word sentences, he fears that it will never stop.

"And Dean?" Maybe she'll stay on the line, tell him a story, give him a reason to hold on…"If you decide not to follow my advice…Don't call me again unless Bobby Singer's dead and the world's about to explode. Definitively."

She hangs up on him abruptly, before he can numbly respond.

"Sure."

He memorizes all ten digits.


	6. Chapter 6

"I've always wondered what falling stars are."

The angel turns to him, confusion written on his face. "They are descending angels, Dean."

"What?" Dean focuses on Cas, his attention pulled away from the clear night sky and its thousands upon thousands of bright pinpoints. A split second later, he returns to his stargazing with renewed focus. "Well, just…wow."

Castiel sits besides his best friend (yes, that is the term he feels is right. Although, what do you call someone you raised from Hell with your own hand and willpower/the man you want to kiss every moment of every day/the most frustrating creature in your purview. Yes, what label fits best?) on the hood of the Impala (possibly too close for his comfort, not that he's paying close attention anyway) and wonders how a man who has seen some of the most horrific things in this world, who has been to Hell (and Heaven) and back, could ever be so innocent. So…full of awe.

Dean (his soul mate, Castiel tries the term out in his mind-it does feel close to perfect) turns back to him and their faces are so close, closer than the younger man has ever allowed. Cas misses this, before Dean declared his personal bubble off-limits, and he could be enthralled by all the colors of light reflected in his irises. "So, you look like that, huh?"

"Yes." Cas discovers that Dean's eyelashes are possibly more fascinating than his eyes and since soul mates are allowed to share Heavens, he knows that he will forsake one autistic man's breezy afternoon for an eternity under the night sky with Dean Winchester. "Although, I have fallen. There is a difference."

"Then it's a good difference." Cas hopes Dean will move in closer, just a bit, so he can do all the things he's ever thought about doing to those lips. "You're more of a nerd than a douche."

Castiel smiles to himself and decides that, yes, this is most definitely how he likes Dean best.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the very first Supernatural fic I ever wrote. I like it, albeit it isn't the *best* can do. I may go back and edit/add to some day. Meanwhile, kudos and comments are appreciated. Thanks! (Note for fact sticklers: I am aware that Castiel's handprint was on Dean's arm; but I changed it to suit the story. :))


End file.
